BATTER UP... AND ALL AROUND. “In 1974, our 2-year-old daughter, Karin, was ‘helping mommy’ bake a chocolate cake,” notes Dennis Copenhaver of Wixom, Michigan. Click to view large image

Dear $$firstname$$,

We hope this month’s Reminisce newsletter is decidedly tasty to you, starting with this cute picture (at right) of a little girl getting a preview of her mom’s delicious cake. Other food-related tidbits we think you’ll enjoy are two stories recalling the same area of New York City. Bill Sailer and Amelio Paolucci bring back memories of the scents and tastes of ethnic food offerings in their Washington Heights neighborhood. Happy savoring.

—The Folks at Reminisce

In this issue:

• Food…Before There Was Fast Food
• Two-Story Meals on Audubon Avenue
• Dad’s Long Hair Lasted 17 Years
• Poem: Having Birthdays
• Over the Back Fence
• Time Capsule Trivia
• A Thought to Remember

Food…Before There Was Fast Food

By Bill Sailer
Deal Island, Maryland

My grandchildren would be amazed, and probably disappointed, if they had lived in New York City of the 1930s and ’40s.

There was no McDonald’s, Wendy’s or Burger King and no frozen dinners. We didn’t have frozen food, period. But the aromas...ah, how I remember those.

Our neighborhood, Washington Heights, had a mix of first- and second-generation immigrants from Greece, Germany, Poland and the Orient, along with Jews from around the world.

When you stepped onto any floor of the tenement where I lived, you were greeted with the scents of different dinners being prepared. The first floor could be gefilte fish and borscht, the second floor might be German wieners and sauerkraut, and the third floor could bring chicken and dumplings.

Food supermarkets with wheeled shopping carts didn’t operate in the Heights. Hardly anyone had a car, so you carried your groceries home or got only as much as would fit in the bottom of your baby’s buggy or in the kids’ four-wheel wagon.

You had fish markets with fish swimming in tanks that nowadays are only used for lobsters. The owner took the fish out of the tank, weighed it, cleaned and filleted it, wrapped it in brown butcher paper, put it in a brown paper bag and took your cash (no credit cards back then). Once, I watched him clean some eels for my mom; I have never eaten one since. If it moves after it’s dead, it’s not for me.

Once in a while, my grandfather and I would go down to the Fulton Fish Market, where the floor was covered with sawdust. We’d get some shrimp cocktails with hot horseradish sauce and eat them at the counter. He’d then buy a couple dozen in brown double bags and we’d ride back on the subway. Grandpa would cook them for the family when we got home.

The fish market opened very early to sell fish to restaurants first, around 3 a.m. We’d get there around 9 or 10 in the morning, and half the workers were already sleeping, propped against the counters, tables and doorways.

The butcher, Stanley Adler, had a glass display case so you could see and choose the meat you wanted. He would carve a roast and wrap it with suet and string, beat Swiss steaks with a cubing mallet and cut your veal slices thin for scallopini.

Chickens were whole, hanging by their feet. When you picked one out, Mr. Adler would clean it, cut off the head and feet and stuff the giblets back in the body. Folks took the feet and the fat trimmed from the bird. Jewish penicillin, a variety of chicken soup, needed the gelatin from the feet and the fat to be therapeutic.

Bakeries had rolls, cakes and other goodies that melted in your mouth. After you picked out your fresh loaf of bread, the baker would put it in a slicing mechanism for you. You bought day-old bread for stuffing.

Things didn’t keep long in the iceboxes and they didn’t have the preservatives we do now, so you shopped for groceries every couple of days. One time, Mom sent me to Bodenstein’s for bread, but it was so fresh and warm from the oven, I ate the entire loaf on the way home. It was worth the punishment I got.

Every block had a delicatessen or German pork store. You walked in and were drowned with the smells of bratwurst, sauerkraut, coleslaw, salami and all kinds of salads. At lunchtime, you could get a sandwich and soda and go eat it on the street or in a nearby park.

Bungalow Bar ice-cream guys rode a tricycle with two wheels in front and carrying a cooler. They rang the bell on their handlebars, alerting all the kids to go get money from their moms for ice cream.

There were vendors on those three-wheel bikes selling all sorts of treats. Candy bars, dried apricot strips and dots of sugar candy on a paper roll were some favorites.

Vegetables were sold from the back of horse-drawn wagons rolling up and down the streets of our neighborhood. Some of the same vendors would come back later, yelling “I Cash Clothes…” and buying your used clothing for resale.

Grandmother decided that all the girls should take a year off from school to learn to cook, wash and run a household in preparation for getting married.

Magazines specialized in articles to make your food dollar stretch. There was “Hoppin’ John,” a dish of leftover ham, tomatoes, onions and rice all fried together. Beef leftovers were good in stew or hash, and chicken would end up in any kind of disguise mothers dreamed up; they really did use their imagination.

One dish I recall was “City Chicken.” To make it, you took scrapple (a mixture of ground meat and cornmeal), molded it around a popsicle stick like a chicken leg, rolled it in bread crumbs and fried it. The concoction didn’t taste like chicken, but I liked its sausage-like taste.

I was anemic for a while, and Mom decided that the best cure for that was liver and onions. I instantly hated the smell and refused to eat it.

I was told, “You eat it, or nothing.” I ate nothing. The next night, it was in front of me again, and again I didn’t eat dinner.

Thankfully, Mom gave up after that and never served liver again.

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Click for larger image.

HELLO, UP THERE. Pictured in an upper rear window of their home is the author’s mother, Rose.

Two-Story Meals on Audubon Avenue

By Amelio Paolucci
Rochester, New York

Food and the gathering to eat a meal always played important parts of my world as I was growing up in New York City of the 1940s and ‘50s.

We lived in a two-family home located in Washington Heights on the upper west side of Manhattan. It was an ethnically diverse neighborhood that contained a strong Italian influence.

I can clearly remember the horse-drawn vegetable cars and the butcher shops where many of the items were kept in large glass cases for all to preview and critique before a purchase was made.

Sunday was always a special day in our household. The food prep often started on Saturday, but Sunday was the day we all gathered to eat a meal, drink homemade red wine and sample desserts of many kinds.

With two families at 63 Audubon Avenue, the smells often competed with or complemented each other. My aunt Helen and her family lived on the first floor and my family lived on the second.

I was the youngest of the children in both families and often got the pick of freshly made meatballs and sausages. Both my aunt and my mother usually had “a little something” for me to eat before the other family members arrived.

The real enjoyment started when the family members started to congregate and gather on both floors. We started to eat early in the afternoon, and oftentimes we didn’t finish until many hours later.

It was not unusual to first eat on one floor and then drop by the other to sample the copious leftovers.

We did this for many years, and each Sunday was a unique experience—a sumptuous memory that remains with me today.

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Click for larger image.

Dad’s Long Hair Lasted 17 Years

By Rose Balk
Red Wing, Minnesota

This picture (at right) of my father, William Driscoll, was taken in 1905, when he was 17 years old.

My dad’s parents were strict disciplinarians, and because his mother had wanted a daughter, he was not allowed the hairstyle of the day for young men.

Later that year, he had his first haircut. This was because his hair became entangled in a corn binder.

Dad was given a third-grade education and then went to work at the family’s grain elevator in Emery, South Dakota. At age 15, he was the main proprietor and operator of the business.

No matter the weather or type of job, Dad always wore a black wool suit, except when he milked the cow or played croquet. Then he would take off his coat and roll up his sleeves.

When Dad died, in 1944, he still had a full head of short white hair and was wearing a black wool suit.

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Having Birthdays

Ethel Klaver of Gilbertsville, Pennsylvania shares the poem “Having Birthdays,” clipped from an old newspaper or magazine by her grandmother and passed on to her. It likely will strike a chord with many of us.

When I was just a youngster
And life, a brimming cup
A birthday meant a glad event
For I was growing up.

A party then was given
To celebrate in style
And I was dressed like all the rest
Too starched to even smile.

The gifts, as I remember
Were placed inside the hall
In mem’ries lane, they bring again
The days beyond recall.

For many years that followed
Smart greetings came my way
But now, alas, my birthdays pass
Like any other day.

I don’t quite understand it
Unless the reason be
That friends who might be glad to write
Will not embarrass me!

—Daniel J. O’Connor

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Over the Back Fence

Dressed in ratty, filthy coveralls, my cousin Dennis, a man in his 50s, was ready to meet his future son-in-law, Mark.

Dennis had been a dental assistant in the U.S. Navy when he was a young man, and his job was to make dentures for other sailors (seems many of them lost teeth in fights). During this time, Dennis had made himself a special set of dentures that could scare children.

So, when Mark walked into the auto parts office to meet his new father-in-law, Dennis was ready. He turned around to greet his daughter Luonne’s beau, saying, “I’m Dennis. Nice to meet you.”

“I came to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage,” Mark said.

“Oh, I don’t know what to say about that. What ya do for work?” Dennis asked, smiling broadly to expose a realistic set of false teeth that stuck out of his mouth at all angles. He knew Mark was a dental student.

“I, I, I’m a dentist,” Mark stuttered in his Texas twang. “Good! I’ve been looking for a dentist for a long time,” Dennis said, smiling proudly.

“Welcome to the family, Mark. I’m sure all the family will want to meet you,” Dennis continued grinning. “They all look just like me.”

—Jack McNeilus
Knoxville, Tennessee

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Time Capsule Trivia

From the decades spanning the 1920s to the 1960s, try to guess what year these historic events took place. The answer is given below, but no peeking!

1. The United States sees its first Republican administration in the White House in 20 years.
2. The Korean War comes to an uneasy end after 162,000 American casualties.
3. At age 36, Senator John F. Kennedy announces his engagement to 23-year-old Jacqueline Bouvier.
4. The 3-D movie fad is big, with films like House of Wax and even some cartoons tempting audiences to don odd-looking 3-D glasses. Among the two-dimensional films released are Shane, Roman Holiday and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
5. I Love Lucy is tops on television, and most of the nation’s TV audience watches Lucy Ricardo give birth to “Little Ricky” in the January 19 episode.

Click here for the answer to Time Capsule Trivia.

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A Thought to Remember

The chance of bread falling with the buttered side down is directly proportional to the cost of the carpet.

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